


to conjure up a fiction

by Z0otyBo0ty (Pterodactyl_Booty)



Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band)
Genre: "platonic" snuggling, Confessions of love, Gay, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nice stuff, really gay, two guys bein dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 07:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11892894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pterodactyl_Booty/pseuds/Z0otyBo0ty
Summary: in which dallon crosses lines and ryan's completely okay with that(aka there are literally like 7 fics for this ship and im trying to inspire the masses)





	to conjure up a fiction

**Author's Note:**

> hi ill keep this quick be on the lookout for other stuff as well this was rushed bc i'm desperate for more weekeman stuff

  
Once it begins, they never actually talk about it. They never give it a name, rules, boundaries.  It’s this unspoken aspect to their relationship, something that adds just a little tension, a little anticipation, to every interaction; always the prospect of _what if_ coloring their exploits. But they never talk about it.

  
If Dallon could pinpoint how _it_ started, _when_ it started, it was probably his teen years, which were crucial to forming the insecurities that make Dallon an absolute mess when it comes to any direct expression of his emotions.

  
But really, it started when Dallon began sitting next to Ryan, throwing his legs over the drummer’s lap and resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. It started when Ryan began taking that as his cue to wrap an arm around Dallon. It started when Dallon began to want more.

  
Something about the security of Ryan’s arms, even in their pseudo-platonic arrangement, felt right in a way that Dallon couldn’t explain. Another big question Dallon had no answer to. (Why does Ryan feel so safe?)

  
He doesn’t have the answer. But that doesn’t make the feeling any less desirable. It catches within him, making him wish to reach out, push down their already meager boundaries and see what lies on the other side.

  
Eventually, Dallon can’t help it anymore, and he snaps—or at least, what the equivalent to him snapping could be considered—crossing what could be a limit if they ever gave name to one.  
They’re sitting in their customary pile of limbs when Dallon takes his hand and very slowly, very deliberately, sets it on Ryan’s knee. There’s a moment (an eternity) where nothing happens, and then Ryan, just as carefully, brings his free hand up to rest it atop Dallon's, gently squeezing before they both relax again. Nothing is said.  
And so it begins.

* * *

 

 In the beginning, Dallon doesn’t take the time to consider all the possible repercussions of what basically amounts to an unspoken game of gay chicken between him and his best friend, doesn’t care to ponder all the ways that it could (and probably would) go horribly wrong.  
He does, however, spend a large portion of his time straddling the fence between insecure and ambitious, wanting more but not knowing what’s his to take. There are no lines in the sand, not yet, and Dallon doesn’t want to draw any by accidentally pushing too far.

  
Because of this, Dallon finds himself sticking to small gestures—a hand on the knee, linking ankles under the table, an arm casually wrapped around Ryan’s frame—little things that can’t be missed, but maybe could be denied, brushed off as a joke if questions were to be raised. At first, Ryan appears to follow Dallon's lead, playing for one-upmanship, but never more than a baby step in any direction. Nothing overt, nothing too daring.

  
Ultimately, this all shatters when Ryan asks Dallon to grab his jacket, and upon receiving the item, leans in close and pecks Dallon swiftly on the cheek, then carefully leans further forward to whisper, “thanks, babe,” in Dallon's ear, warm breath puffing out and causing Dallon to shiver.  When Ryan pulls back only a moment later, his eyes are crinkled the way they get when his smile is genuine, and Dallon tries not to think about how his heart melts just a little at the sight.  
Of course, Ryan’s actions up the stakes in a way Dallon isn’t entirely prepared for. If they were taking baby steps before, then Ryan has suddenly found his legs, sprinting forward with a level of confidence that leaves Dallon's shaky stance far behind in the dust. Considering what it gets him, though, Dallon can’t really say he minds all that much.

  
Though monumental, the entire event is over in less than a minute, and Ryan exits the apartment quickly afterwards, only a small smirk betraying his actions. Dallon takes a moment to collect himself, calm his heart and no, he’s definitely not blushing, before grabbing his own jacket and following after.    
Things maybe get more heated after that.

* * *

 

 The gestures become more frequent, bolder too. Unfortunately, so do the pet names, which never cease to turn Dallon red. Ryan seems to be working his way through a list of endearments, trying out a new one with every given opportunity, seemingly only for the reaction it manages to garner out of Dallon.  
As the days pass, Dallon can feel the way their interactions are shifting, taking on a meaning that was previously absent. He can’t pinpoint it exactly: when it becomes less about outdoing each other and more about just contact. But Dallon can feel the way Ryan sometimes lingers, when the joke should be over but maybe he doesn’t want it to be. It makes something equal parts excited and anxious flutter in Dallon’s chest, unsure if he’s just imagining things or maybe this is as little a game to as it is to Dallon.  
Dallon would like to think it’s all a step in the right direction, closer the moreness that he craves, but it just leaves Dallon uncertain as to where they really stand, but unwilling to speak out for fear of ending things altogether.

  
So, it goes on.

  
They make no effort to hide… whatever it is that they’re doing, and soon enough their friends begin catching them holding hands or curled up together somewhere beyond the lines of friendship but not quite at anything else either. They'll give them these looks, lingering and questioning, but they never say anything.

  
Dallon wishes they would, wishes they’d question them, ask just what exactly it is that they’re doing so that Dallon can turn to Ryan and maybe get an answer as well.

 

* * *

 

Dallon has this bad habit where every stranger that catches his eye or any small amount of interaction with a previously unknown person kicks his imagination into gear. It leads him to dreaming up complex scenarios, countless futures with someone he probably isn’t even all that interested in.  
He’s always looking around, seeing people, considering.

  
The habit disappears as Dallon’s thing with Ryan starts to get more serious, or at least more routine. He feels like he’s setting himself up for disappointment, getting himself hopeful that this game with Ryan is actually going somewhere other than out the window as soon as the drummer meets someone he actually wants to be with, but he can’t help it.  
Dallon’s brain is locked on only one possibility, and he can’t even say that he’s upset that it’s Ryan. He just doesn’t see things ending well when Ryan decides he’s done with whatever it is that they’re doing.

  
Dallon would like to say it makes him more careful, more considerate of both himself and Ryan every time he goes to grab the other man’s hand or rest his head against the drummer’s shoulder. But really, it just makes him greedy, desperate for each interaction, because he isn’t sure when (if?) he’s going to have to give it all up.

* * *

 

 Only a few weeks after the “jacket incident” –or so Dallon has taken to calling it in his head—finds Ryan and Dallon both at Dallon’s place, sitting on his couch (right next to each other, Ryan’s arm resting comfortably around Dallon’s shoulder) and just hanging out despite seeing each other every day on tour.

  
Dallon isn’t complaining, though; there’s something comforting about spending time together outside of any expectations to do so, something that makes their friendship as genuine as he and Ryan are always trying to convince everyone it is. He settles further into Ryan’s hold, and tries to rephrase his thoughts in a way that’s just as true, but more compelling.  
He’s attempting to write, something maybe about Ryan and maybe about them, but definitely deniable if anyone were to ask. He wants to describe how much Ryan means to him versus how much Ryan could mean to him, if they could just find a way to put their relationship in words again. However, Dallon's mind is at a blank, and the words just aren’t coming.

  
Dallon eventually tosses his notebook across the room in frustration, ignoring the loud thunk as it hits the wall across from the couch. Writing has never been easy, but he feels particularity disappointed in himself this time around. Being with Ryan is so easy, so why isn’t writing about it?

  
He takes a moment to just breathe. Writing, whether successful or not, always works him up, makes him jittery and unsettled and in need of some way to ground himself. It leaves him vulnerable, especially if he can’t finish, because then he’s opened a wound that he doesn’t know how to close.  
After calming his breathing, he glances up from the floor to Ryan, who’s already staring at Dallon, expression set somewhere between fond and concerned in a way that causes Dallon’s heart to flip.

  
Dallon gives the drummer a slight smile, something that says I’m not okay, but I’m getting there and Ryan just tightens the arm he has around Dallon in response. They sit there for a moment, Dallon focusing on his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists until he feels relatively normal again.

  
When he finally looks back up at Ryan, the other man looks no less fond and it hits something in Dallon, catching in his lungs and making him bolder than he generally prefers to be. A sense of now or never washes over Dallon, guiding his next actions.

  
Dallon reaches up, just as slowly as when this all started, just as purposeful, resting his hand gently on Ryan’s face; no pressure, just contact. His other hand settles on top of Ryan’s knee, a very deliberate choice, and Dallon hopes it makes for a more confident façade than what he’s actually feeling.

  
When Dallon’s eyes find Ryan’s again, they’re wide with surprise. However, Ryan doesn’t hesitate as Dallon moves closer; rather he leans forward, meeting him in the middle, their lips pressing together just as softly as his palm against Ryan’s cheek. Dallon doesn’t know what to make of the way Ryan sighs into the kiss, except that maybe he’s been waiting for this just as long as Dallon has.

  
The kiss is gentle in the way that Dallon’s never been one to push, but more tangible than he ever could have expected. He feels the press of Ryan’s lips in his veins, aches for it in his lungs. It’s both overwhelming and not enough, but mostly it’s just Ryan and honestly Dallon could never ask for anything more than that.

  
Ryan’s mouth opens up under Dallon’s, and as they continue to kiss, Dallon feels two parts amazed and one part insecure, and that’s enough to make something hurt inside him, make him break away and search Ryan’s face, making sure this is as real as it feels.

  
“I—” Dallon cuts himself off, unsure of how to ask without putting himself on the line, risking their friendship for the way Ryan feels pressed against him. Words will make things concrete, and Dallon can’t take it back if this doesn’t mean the same thing to Ryan as it does it him. Still, he eventually gets out, “You… mean this, right? Us?”

  
Dallon’s being as vague as possible, as if it will somehow save him from rejection if Ryan says no, but it’s an unnecessary precaution, because Ryan just leans forward, pressing their foreheads together in a way that suggests a far greater intimacy than the tiptoed steps they’ve spend the last few weeks taking around each other.

  
“Dallon,” is all Ryan says, and he sounds vulnerable, like maybe he’s been worried too. He leans forward, slanting their lips together, a greater pressure to match the intent. When he pulls back, only for a moment, it’s to give Dallon a shy smile and to say, “I’ve, uh, meant it from the start.”

  
And maybe Dallon will always be one for words and questions and over-thinking, but right now, any doubts he has, Ryan's lips against his are answer enough.

**Author's Note:**

> its august 24th 2017 if idkhbtfm dont end up being robots or aliens im gonna be upset


End file.
